


The Color of Grey

by punch0ut



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Good Orochimaru (Naruto), Original Character(s), Reincarnation, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Tags May Change, Third Shinobi War, Worldbuilding, the faster i upload the more work im putting off, this is a project in procrastination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26917765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punch0ut/pseuds/punch0ut
Summary: There is a saying, back where I came from. "Tragedy is the shattered form of beautiful things." So... how about a safety net, and will superglue work? What even counts as 'beautiful'?Or: it's hard to LifeTM, but when you have a cheat sheet, no matter how spotty, you're a little more motivated to give it a try.
Relationships: Undisclosed Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 79





	1. Prologue, I

The shack was still far, a whole clearing away. There wasn’t a speck of shelter between it and me.

The skin on the back of my neck prickled. The black glint of a knife was visible through the grass. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder; I didn’t want to stare down death. 

I wasn’t brave, and I wasn’t fast, and I was only a kid. I didn’t want to play this game of chase, but what choice did I have?

*** 

  
It started out a lot more peacefully.

***

Haiko. Grey-child. It was as simple a name as it came, and for a while I didn’t know why it sat wrong, even though the woman called me that so affectionately. 

When I remembered why, I also experienced my first headache in this life, not that the woman realized it was anything of the sort. She merely laughed, made soothing noises, and rocked me in my bundle of blankets.

I was supposed to be larger. I was supposed to be stronger. The world should certainly not be like an ancient TV, only black-and-white, but what do I know? Those buzzing, colorful memories that crowded my brain like an overstuffed toy, they could be the fake one. Falling on my butt sure hurt a lot, and that happened in the black-and-white world, not the colorful one in my head.

Soon, though, their intensity faded. I didn’t forget them, no, but they became easier to ignore. My mother’s rocking was always calming, her voice smooth and her arms warm, and I fell asleep.

***

Mother was pretty in the traditional way: long black hair, sharp chin, nice smile, bright eyes. In fact, her eyes were exceptionally captivating. 

As all things, her eyes were a shade of grey, and milky blank, as though she was blind. There was no distinction between iris and pupil, nor between iris and sclera. Like a polished stone. A looping tattoo wound around around her eyes and brow like a mask, extending into her temples and disappearing into her hair. 

Once, I touched them curiously, and her laughter sounded like bells. 

***

I spent all my time in a quaint little cottage that I was happy to call home. I never left the little clearing outside its doors, and it was the best, happiest time.

Even though being unceremoniously dumped into another life with no recollection of how the previous one ended was baffling, at least I had a concrete grasp of how things like walking and talking should go. Consequently, I blurred through the first year of my life, relearning the basic skills of being human. I relearned fine motor control, and speech, and walking, running, jumping, dancing. I might've sang, too, but that's something better forgotten.

Mother was busy all the time with cooking and cleaning and all the rest of the things that came with living alone in the woods, but she always made time to help me, and I love her. She danced and she sang and she clapped my hands along to those songs and over dinner, under a starry sky, she told me stories. I’d grow up to remember none of them, but back then, they were the best time in my day.

*** 

I wasn’t a quiet baby, though I made an effort to cry less and sleep more. Mother was always so tired if I woke her up when the moon was out, so even though I suspected I wasn’t successful, I made the effort.

Sometime when the cicadas were buzzing, I managed my first complete sentence. It was something like … “Give me book!” But hey, I did it! I’ll miss her brilliant smile. 

The basic sounds that made up language was choppy and hard, but there were soft, lilting sounds too, and I loved those words. They happened the most during story-time, so I started mimicking her, repeating her words, and that just made her smile brighter, so I did it more. The yard at night was a quiet, magical place, and with just the two of us, I imagined time to stop, so I’ll never grow up, and she’ll never leave.

I learned very fast. By the time the cicadas were singing again, I began to understand her stories. Wild stories they were, filled with heroes and magic and tragic, sacrificial deaths. Wolves were a highlight, as were toads and snakes and slugs. Lush forests, with bigger trees than the thin ones outside our cottage, were a featured locale. Almost none of her heroes lived to the end, but they always left something behind to remember them by. 

Since I never remembered them, I’d never realize they were a sort of oral history. 

***

On the brink of my second winter, my mother surprised me with a gift. A set of brushes and ink, hand-crafted for my grip. Because there was nothing to do in winter but huddle, keep warm, and shovel snow, none of which I could help with, she’d been afraid I’ll get bored. She taught me how to make words instead of just say them, and that was how I acquired my hobby.

It was surprisingly easy, once I got past the cramping in my hands. If it cramps, she told me, it was the wrong position. 

She laughed at my attempts. She laughed a lot, period. I love her.

There was something magical, being snowed in and spending all day in her company. I told her so, and she smiled, beatific, and said, “I love you too, Haii-chan.”

Before it all went wrong, she had began to show me how to draw with the brush. I hadn’t been able to draw, then or now, and at first I doubted I would be able to reproduce the faint, careful lines in the paintings she showed me. “This one’s called ‘A Fox’s Wedding’,” she’d said, pointing to one with no foxes in it, just mountains. “This one’s called ‘Leaf’.” She pointed to a landscape with a village nestled in the center. “This one I drew from imagination, and I think it’s gone now, but it’s called ‘Whirlpool’.”

“Okay,” I’d said. “Why aren’t they what you say they are?”

She dropped the scrolls, she was laughing so hard. 

Later on, when she calmed down, she taught me those words, and showed me some basic skills. 

I remembered her laugh, but the paintings' details had faded, except for their beauty.

***

When she stopped meeting my gaze, I began to panic. 

The flowers were blooming, the second time I’ve seen them do that. I was out in the yard, picking the ones with the shape I liked, hoping she’d use them for decorations somewhere, or better, press them in books. She called for me from inside the house, and I scrambled up to run back to the house.

“What’ve you got there, Haii-chan? Oh, those are wonderful flowers!” She took a few from my hands and brought them up to her nose, inhaling. “Where do you think I should put them. Table? Mantel? Room? Oh—!” She’d been glancing around the kitchen, and had looked back at me for an opinion, when she gasped and dropped the flowers, quickly looking away. 

I blinked at her. I thought nothing of it then. I was actually trying to remember why I thought the grass seemed strange. Brighter, somehow. But how could grass be brighter?

That night, I couldn’t find her. Not that worried, I climbed into her bed and fell back asleep. She would continue these disappearances, always at night. 

***

I had believed that I was safe. Why would I have thought different?

It was the end of my third summer. 

Those days were bright. Literally. Things stopped being grey and became green instead. My mother was still the same as ever, carefree, sing-song, and I’d grown used to not meeting her eyes, since it didn’t seem to have changed anything. 

She was making rabbit stew with vegetables and herbs from the garden. My hair had started to grow, and she’d just spent the afternoon placing it into little braids. I thought they pulled at my scalp, so as she hummed and stirred, I ran a comb through my hair and sang, off key.

Suddenly she shushed me. I looked over, hungry, hoping food was ready.

What I saw surprised me. The markings on her eyes — even though she was facing away they were visible from the side — were expanding, spreading down her cheekbones and up to her temples and into her hair. And her eyes were bright, too, brightly green, end to end. It was like … the moon, if it were small, twin, and green.

The world, and its green jello-bright shadows, shivered.

She blinked, and it was like shades slamming down. Everything dimmed, and her eyes lost their green glow. The markings were normal again, looping harmlessly around her eyes. She still wasn’t looking at me, but she picked me up without missing and carried me to the bedroom.

“Dinner?” I’d asked.

She shushed me. From the wardrobe, she pulled out a bulky, sleeveless jacket and put it on. She tore her robes at the waist and pulled on pants. Tightening them to her legs by wrapping cloth around her calves and tying it, she bent her legs, testing the give, then in neat, efficient moves, began going around the corners of the room, pulling open hidden compartments and tucking small objects into the pockets on her person. By then, the sombre atmosphere was getting to me, and I was getting worried. 

“Something wrong?” I’d asked. 

She pulled out a small shoulder pack from a corner that I wasn’t aware existed before that night. She handed it to me; I put it on. She kneeled down in front of me, and unlocked the brilliance in her eyes. This time, she met my gaze. “We have to go away, Haii-chan. I don’t know how long it will take, or if we can come back. But trust in me. I’ll keep you safe.”

I nodded. 

***

When we left the cottage, the moon was just rising. We did not stop until the moon was halfway up the sky. 

The journey through the woods had been fast and silent. When we stopped for water, however, there was a distant rumble. I glanced up, but the sky was clear. Mother’s eyes had never stopped glowing, and she looked back in the direction of the cottage. 

I followed her gaze, but I didn’t see anything. 

I did see a curl of smoke going up above the treetop, a larger version of the little fires I could start with a magnifying glass in summer. I had started one not one week earlier. 

My mother’s mouth pulled into a thin line, and she picked me up again. We continued on without a word. This time, however, she took to the branches, leaping between them like a squirrel, landing squarely and taking off with confidence, while I clung to her shoulders and stared, wild-eyed, at the forest floor flashing behind us. 

We ran into a river some time after that, and I felt her breath a sigh of relief. She began to follow it.

The moon dipped back into the branches.

***

At dawn, she suddenly drew to a stop. I had been napping, but at her motion I came awake instantly. There were no bird calls that morning or that entire day, and even though I grew to forget the details of my early years, I remembered the quiet of a forest to mean danger.

She dropped to the forest floor. Rifling in her many pockets, she drew out a scroll and stuffed it into my pack. She fixed me with her brilliant eyes and said, slowly and carefully, “Go east.” She pointed. “The shadows will lead you wrong, so follow the sun. There are food and water in your bag, and if you go quickly and quietly they won’t find you. It’s a straight path from here to the safe house I’ve prepared. I will join you there after nightfall. Stay there, and don’t open the door.”

“Not even for you?” I was whispering. 

She shook her head, then managed a smile. It wasn’t anything like her usual ones. “If you have to open the door, it’s not me.”

I nodded. 

She hugged me, tightly. “I love you. I’ll join you soon. Now go!” 

She gave me a small shove, but I didn’t move. I was just starting to process what she wanted me to do. Walk through the forest? Alone? But “—why can’t you come with me?” I asked, small and quiet. 

She smiled, and this was a little more normal, a little sad. “There’s so much I want to tell you, but there’s no time. Remember that I love you, baby girl.” She kissed my forehead, then pushed me away again. “Go, quickly!”

I looked in the direction she wanted me to go. 

“Yes, that’s right,” she said. 

I started slow, just walking away. 

“That’s good, you’re doing well.”

I pushed through the undergrowth, and the leaf of a fern fell behind my back. The voice of encouragement faded. Heart suddenly in my mouth, I pushed it aside and looked back at the spot my mother had been a second ago. She wasn’t there anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is also posted on ffnet if u want to read ahead, but that version had older sections in the middle that i haven’t edited yet.


	2. Prologue, II

I’d lost my sandals in a muddy pool some time ago. Under the canopy, daytime humidity rose to uncomfortable levels. Birds tittered and flew about, high up, their shadows flitting across the beams of sunlight that reached me. Everywhere I looked, the world was green. 

Green veins snaked across bark. Green leaves seemed to overflow with life. Green tendrils, free-floating, pooled at the base of trees and ferns like water. I couldn’t see the sky clearly, and even though I knew I had enough water and I wasn’t overheating, I felt delirious. 

What sort of world was this?

I stumbled onward.

***

I collapsed against a tree root, exhausted. The … ambient … pigment? … in addition to the monochrome background made it hard to discern time of day, and I clung to the only reality I knew: the certainty in my mother’s voice when she told me it was a straight path to safety. Had I veered off course?

Glancing up, I tried to correct my course, but like all the attempts I’d made before, I couldn’t see the sun clearly. I slid to the forest floor, sighing.

Then leapt up with a yelp.

I had previously taken the green stuff to be inert, or at least slow moving. But, even as I watched, more welled up from the ground to gather at my feet— a little growing pool of partially transparent, luminescent … stuff. It grew thicker and thicker, until I couldn’t see the ground at all.

Cautiously I swiped my hand through it as fast as I could, like passing a hand through open flame. It stirred, like some sort of gas, but it had no tangible texture. 

I shook my head. What was I doing, getting caught up in bullshit? I stood up, brushing clumps of dirt off my bum. There was an itch on my hands, and I brushed off some worms, too.

When I took a step, however, my foot broke through a shell of earth and sank into a teeming mass of insects. For a second, I felt their cold bodies tickling the bottom of my foot, then I shrieked and stumbled back. 

Argh, fuck. I bit my lips to keep anymore exclamations inside, then hopped on one foot while wiping the other against a tree root. Gods that was disgusting. Then I stood there, breathing through my nose, gathering the courage to move again. 

It was probably a fluke. A freak accident. I didn’t weight that much, and the forest floor wasn’t a minefield of bug bombs. An accident.

I took another breath, looked up, picked a part of the canopy that seemed brightest, then set off in that direction.

***

The sun was setting, and under the canopy, dusk rushed forth.

I stood at the base of a tree, looking around at the thinning forest. I was probably on the right track, fumbling as I had been. Mother mentioned a safe house, but I could barely see my hand if I stretched it out, and the green stuff had … dimmed, I suppose? I glanced at a curl of it around my ankle. It looked about as luminous as a rock.

If I couldn’t find the safe house, will my mother come looking for me? I bet with those lamp-like eyes of her’s, she’d find me in no time.

I heaved a breath. I wasn’t getting anywhere by dithering, and the moon will be up soon. I’d better get to a place with less canopy, so I can catch the moonrise.

***

The trees began to thin, and I heard the rushing of another river.

I stepped around the broad trunk of a tree and the scene opened before me.

Grass had grown wild and tall, their stalks waving in the slight breeze, a rippling sea of green. Rising from the center like an island is the squat shadow of a shack. Its details were blurred by distance and the moonlight, and I could only pray that it was the correct place. 

Just as I took a step out of the tree line, something flew past my shoulder and thudded before my feet. I jerked back.

“Just a kid?” said a low, rough voice from behind me. He sounded _above_ me, as though he was hanging out in the branches. 

“We’re still getting paid. Who cares,” said another. “Is Sangoro back yet?”

“Not yet.”

“So never, then, like the rest. A right bitch, that woman.”

I was frozen to the spot. I didn’t dare to turn around, and I didn’t dare step forwards to examine the thing they’d thrown at me. 

“That means we get the lion’s share, yeah?” 

“Finish the job,” snapped the second voice.

The first one sneered. “How hard’s it gonna be? Go on, kid,” he raised his voice, clearly addressing me. “Try it. I swear we’ll give you a head start.”

It was the sheer disregard in his voice that pierced through my terrified haze. If I was to die here then by the gods, I will make them work for it. Sure, I wasn’t brave, I wasn’t fast, but now I had a bone to pick, and I worked well with spite.

I ran for it, straight into the grass.

Shadows moved in the corner of my sight. Several things happened at once.

A man seemingly materialized out of thin air right next to me, he had been moving so fast, a slice of silver raised over his shoulder, and his insides were glowing blue like the map of an underground train system — I caught sight of his eyes, reflecting the moonlight. Vapors of green reared from the grass all around me and dove at the man, splashing over him like an upended bucket.

An overwhelming exhaustion crashed into me at the same moment, and I tripped over my feet, tumbling to the ground in a painful sprawl.

“Fuck!” 

Was that me, or someone else? I picked myself up painfully, surprised that sword hadn’t connected with any part of me. When my heart continued to hammer, urged on by adrenaline, I looked around. 

The clearing was calm, the green ocean of grass unbroken. 

What happened?

Torn between sprinting for the shack, which was no closer, since I barely got two steps before the man jumped me, and investigating what happened to said man, I dithered in place for too long.

Something cold slammed into my shoulder, and I had barely registered the pain before another figure was standing in front of me, glowing blue and his arm drawn back.

Adrenaline covered the pain. I threw myself to the side, away from the blade. 

Luck favored me that night, because I survived the first swing.

“Stay—”

He spun around, the whites of his eyes visible in a ring around his furious eyes. Green enveloped him with a silent roar.

“—still!”

I scrambled backwards, but it wasn’t enough. Pain seared through my leg. I didn’t scream, just curled into a tight ball, wracked with searing pain and terrible fatigue.

There was a dull, heavy _thud_.

No further blows came. The clearing was silent.

Slowly, breath by breath, I uncurled, peering out from between my fingers. With adrenaline fading, the hammering of my heart grew heavier and heavier with each beat as though it was a physical weight.

My eyelids wanted to close. I wanted to collapse and sleep forever. My shoulder and leg were screaming with pain, and the breeze was chilly. But I could do none of that, because I _had_ to check if any more shadow-fast people were going to try and kill me.

I staggered upright. Once again, I was surrounded by a calm, murmuring sea of grass so green it glowed. I looked at the stuff: there was no indication it was going to rear up like a shark and swallow me. 

Cautiously, limping, I investigated the spots in the grass where I’d last seen the two men.

I spotted their swords before I spotted anything resembling a body. They lay abandoned in the grass. The closest one had a smear of something dark along the tip of it’s blade— my blood. The metallic glint of another caught my eye, just a few steps away. 

There was something attached to the handle of the closest sword, and I edged closer, squinting. Initially, I thought to be an irregularly shaped guard. A second later, the image snapped into place.

I was looking at a human hand, chipped and grey and broken off at the wrist. it’s been turned to stone. 

I tripped backwards, my heartbeat suddenly roaring in my ears. What? 

The arm lay a little bit behind the sword, broken off from the main body above the elbow. It was as if someone had pushed over a statue, smashing it to pieces. It was broken at all the right stress lines.

My gaze strayed; I recognized the shape of a man a few steps away; I squeezed my eyes shut. 

What the _fuck_.

Then I heard two distinct thumps, the sound of sandals hitting grass.

The sharp sound of an inhale.

I whirled around, placing weight on my hurt leg — pain spike through me, but I couldn’t bother with it. Only one thought was running through my mind: _I was going to die here._

A large figure was silhouetted against the moon, another one behind it, the blue flames inside their bodies dampened and— and— controlled, somehow. I threw my gaze around, frantic, looking for a way out.

I tried to do— what, I didn’t know. Control the green shit like the Force? Order it to move with my mind? It clearly moved earlier, but now I stared at it desperately and it did absolutely nothing.

My heart was beating so fast I could feel it thrumming under my skin. 

The man knelt down, saying something in a rumbling voice, but I was past the point of reasoning. The last thing I saw was a cascade of messy white hair, shining in the moonlight.


	3. interlude

Jiraiya caught the girl as she passed out. The pack on her back, previously overlooked, dug into his arms. She was so small, so light. He laid down the girl, carefully, then opened the pack and, yes, there was the scroll that confirmed her identity.

As if the two stone corpses in the clearing weren’t enough proof.

He looked over his shoulder at Orochimaru. 

Orochimaru picked through the shattered remains of the two mercenaries, expression unreadable. 

“This is her. You keep looking. I’ll bring her back.” 

Orochimaru didn’t immediately respond. He stooped down, picking up a chunk of rock. “I told Tsunade to come.” He sounded irritated. 

By sheer dint of experience, Jiraiya was able to extract the meaning behind the comment. Orochimaru was lamenting the lack of a skilled medic-nin on hand because he wanted to know how much chakra the girl had used to kill two mercenaries _right now_ , instead of back at the village, where the hospital was waiting, and where the girl’s condition would’ve deteriorated or recovered, removing anything worth inspecting.

“She’s going through a lot,” Jiraiya said. Orochimaru scoffed, but his heart wasn’t in it. 

The topic of Tsunade was a well-worn argument between them, enough that it had been reduced to a single back-and-forth.

Orochimaru sighed, as quiet a sound as the wind between grass. “Return to the village with the girl. I’ll track down the rest of these men. If Tsunade isn’t receptive, ask Mikage.” 

“I know.” Jiraiya picked up the girl again. Her heartbeat fluttered worryingly fast. He would have to hurry — chakra exhaustion was a serious matter in normal people, and at her age, could permanently damage her chakra coils.

He nodded at Orochimaru, but Orochimaru wasn’t paying attention. He was preoccupied with prying something from a sell-sword’s belt. 

Jiraiya suppressed a sigh, then turned to leap into the trees in the direction of home.

He knew Tsunade was going to leave them, he was resigned to it. Would he have to resign to Orochimaru drifting away as well?

***

No matter how much Hiruzen-sensei spouted that stuff about all the village being a family, there were some people Jiraiya just didn’t like. (He never had a family, so it wasn’t as if he understood the finer details of that metaphor.) Chief on that list was Shimura Danzō. How had the old viper found out about their detour tonight, anyway? 

“It is unbecoming of one of the great Sannin to hold such sentiments for a deserter, Jiraiya,” Danzō said. His voice did not echo down the quiet, empty hospital corridor. It was not a corridor designed for echoes. 

“Senko’s crimes do not extend to her daughter.” There was no use hiding their relation. Why else would Danzō be here, requesting entry to Haiko’s hospital room? 

“Precisely. Which is why I would like to appraise the girl myself, to make sure none of Senko’s taint has been brought back to the village.” 

A load of bullshit. Jiraiya held his tongue, counted to three, then replied, “Mikage is still working. The girl’s chakra exhaustion is life-threatening. It will be a while before he comes out. Respectfully, I think you should retire for the night, Elder Shimura. I will keep you updated of her progress.”

Gods bless Nohara Mikage’s kindness. Not everyone would be willing to set up a top secret hospital room for a top secret patient on such short notice. Tsunade, as expected, had not been in the hospital. 

Danzō adjusted his grip on his cane. Did the man even need a walking aid? It was most definitely a hidden sword of some sort. Did he hope to exude a harmless air with it? If so, he was failing miserably.

“Many thanks, Jiraiya. I hope my name will be considered when you decide to foster the child. To send someone with her background into the orphanage system would be too much of a waste.” Danzō tipped his head the barest inch, then turned and walked away, his cane clicking. 

It was only when the door closed behind Danzō that Jiraiya let out a breath.

There was no chance in hell he would let Shimura Danzō take in Senko’s child. Haiko wouldn’t only disappear off the face of the earth, she’d be put into the Foundation. It wasn’t a fate Jiraiya wished on anyone, and at times like this, he really questioned his teacher’s judgement.

The door behind him opened a crack. Mikage’s messy brown hair emerged, then the next clan head of the Nohara crept out of the hospital room and shut the door behind him. Beneath his clan’s tear-like markings, the man was white as a sheet.

“Is Elder Shimura gone? Gods, he gives me the creeps.” 

Jiraiya hummed, amused. “How is the girl?”

“Finally stable. I don’t think she will have any scarring, even. But, is Uchiha-san arriving soon? I couldn’t check Haiko-san for a concussion because of the—” Mikage gestured to his eyes awkwardly. “Otherwise, she’ll be fine.”

“I’ll bet Yōko-san just wanted to wait until Shimura Danzō left, like you.” 

Just then, the corridor door opened. Uchiha Yōko, current head of the Uchiha clan, came through. She paused by the door, taking in the scene, then walked towards them. When she reached Jiraiya and Mikage, she reached into her wide sleeves and pulled out a bright orange toad. “What is this, boy? I get a summons— _summons_ —from you in the dead of night to the hospital’s hidden wing, no explanation, and when I arrive who do I run into but Shimura Danzō?” 

Uchiha Yōko was a veteran from the First War, one of the few they still had in active duty. Like most shinobi of her experience and age, she didn’t think too highly of the Sannin. Thought the fame was getting to their head, especially so when it came to Tsunade. She didn't approve of the loose reign the Hokage gave him and Orochimaru, and truth be told, all First War veterans intimidated Jiraiya a little. He wouldn’t have asked for her help if it wasn’t the only option he had. 

If he asked the Hyūga for help, the secret would be spilled within the month, from clan head to clan elder to clan member to general populace. Yōko knew how to keep a secret, and most importantly she didn’t give two shits about her clan’s elders.

She also had the Sharingan. 

“Did he say anything to you?” Jiraiya asked, dismissing the toad. It disappeared in a puff of chakra-smoke.

“He gave me a suspicious look, but when did that man ever drop his paranoia? Never mind him. I hope you didn’t decide to bring home strays after all, boy.”

Jiraiya hid a wince. He was never going to live down his three-year absence. “It’s one of ours.” He hoped Yōko wasn’t one of those who held a grudge against Senko’s desertion. 

Yōko merely raised a brow. “Well? Out with it, Jiraiya, before I turn to Nohara-san and give him a heart attack.”

Mikage was pressed up against the door of the hospital room, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. When Jiraiya and Yōko’s attention turned to him, he managed a weak smile. 

Yōko shook her head. “You have to shape up, boy. You’ll soon be sitting at the same council table as me, and I’m hardly the worst there.” 

Jiraiya ran a hand through his hair and took the plunge. “Orochimaru and I picked up Senko’s daughter earlier tonight and I need you to check the progress of her dōjutsu.”

Yōko pinned him with hawk-like eyes. Jiraiya held firm. After a moment, she exhaled sharply. “Senko has a kid? How do you know this? Why’s she coming forwards now?”

“She’s dead,” said Orochimaru. 

Jiraiya took his teammate's silent appearance in stride. Mikage clutched his chest. Yōko scowled. 

“Have you checked her bloodline yet?” Orochimaru directed this at Yōko. Her scowl deepened, but she merely jerked her head at Mikage, who hurried out of the way, and she entered the hospital room. 

“Erm,” said Mikage. “I’ll go set up the staff list for Haiko.”

“Best case scenario, how soon will she be cleared for release?” Jiraiya asked him, quickly, before he could escape. 

“Shortest, a week. Longest, two. Unless her bloodline gives us trouble, five to seven days of rest for her chakra reserves to return to normal functionality would be enough.”

“Will she remember tonight’s events?” asked Orochimaru.

Comfortably settled into his specialty, Mikage didn’t even flinch at being addressed by Orochimaru. “Hard to say. Children are resilient, but responses to trauma are always varied. Once she wakes up, you can always ask.”

Orochimaru looked away. 

“Before you go, Mikage,” Jiraiya said, suddenly remembering Danzō’s words. He'd have to find a home for Haiko. “Any Nohara willing to take in an orphan?” 

They still had to seal Haiko’s eyes, which would make raising her a significantly easier job. The Uchiha weren’t going to take her, Jiraiya was sure, even if they were the most compatible clan. Not the Hyūga— they’d be the last clan he asked, because gods only knew what they would do with an outsider bloodline. He couldn’t with good conscience slot her into a civilian family, either— it was too big a burden, and as Shimura Danzō’s presence proved, Haiko’s life was going to be wrapped up in politics. Best to have her equipped from an early age with bloodline politics.

He hated to agree with Danzō on anything, but the orphanage system was already over-taxed dealing with war orphans. He’d only put Haiko there as a last resort.

“I can ask, but…” Mikage scratched his cheek. “It’s pretty sudden and … big. I don’t know.”

“Ask,” Jiraiya said. “But carefully.”

Mikage nodded and left.

After a minute, Orochimaru sighed, very quietly.

“Tsunade?” Orochimaru’s voice was even, but his eyes were slanted to the side, something he did whenever he initiated a topic he didn’t like but was morally bound to discuss.

Jiraiya shook his head. “Still in the village.” He hoped. Tsunade’s last words to them rang in the silence of the corridor.

 _For her? Why?_ Tsunade had scoffed, an ugly sound. _I’ll show up for her funeral, and that’s all._

“Did you bring back a body?” 

“What I could,” Orochimaru said, grim. “Which reminds me.”

From his sleeves, he pulled out a vial. Jiraiya recoiled from the object, then steeled himself and picked it up.

It was a pair of eyes, suspended in liquid tinted pink with blood. The pupils were clouded over in a film of grey, like a bad case of cataracts. There wasn’t a speck of green in it, but there was little doubt to whom they’d belonged.

“All of them seemed to be hired swords. I found no village associations.” At Jiraiya’s raised eyebrow, Orochimaru added, “I checked.” He tapped the side of the vial. “This wasn’t even in a scroll. It was just in a pocket.”

“How many?”

“Seven, with a straggler.”

They must’ve gotten the drop on her somehow, took the eyes first. There was no way she couldn’t have fought off seven untrained shinobi — if she was in top form, which wasn’t guaranteed. It was a grim, depressing thought. It did not escape Jiraiya's notice that Orochimaru worded it ambiguously: _'_ _seemed to be'_ , _'found'_ , as though a conspiracy was laying around, waiting to be unearthed. 

Jiraiya passed the vial back to Orochimaru, who tucked it back into a sleeve. “It wouldn’t have done the contractor any good, those. Did you find their contract?”

“I did not,” Orochimaru said. He looked at the door. “We’ll talk about this later.”

Yōko was probably listening in to their every word. Jiraiya didn’t fault her for it. No one was sure why Senko left. She had just … walked out one day, and never came back. They didn’t even realize she’d gone until she failed to report back to active duty. At least, that was the story he heard. He’d still been in Rain Country. 

It’d been after the fighting, sure, and Hiruzen hadn't labeled her a rogue-nin since she didn't become hostile to Leaf, but desertion was desertion. Senko wouldn’t be put to rest in the main cemetery with rest of the war veterans. 

The door opened. Yōko stepped out. “You didn’t tell me how much she looked like Senko.”

“Children grow,” Orochimaru replied, almost snidely. 

“How did it look?” Jiraiya asked.

“Like her mother’s. You have to seal it.” Yōko’s eyes, dark, flicked between them. “I heard what you asked Nohara-san. If you’re looking for foster parents, you’d better work fast. I wouldn’t be surprised if Danzō had gone straight to the Sandaime despite the hour.”

“We’re aware,” Jiraiya grumbled. It was a miracle Tsunade hadn’t gone to him first. Or, not. She’d been avoiding them all like the plague. 

“Why don’t one of you take her?” 

Orochimaru’s nose wrinkled, ever so slightly, then smoothed out. Jiraiya blinked rapidly. 

Yōko shook her head. “Forget I said anything. What about Tsunade-hime? A child—”

“No.”

“Not a good idea.” 

Jiraiya glanced at Orochimaru, who’s lips were turned down at the corners. Orochimaru wasn’t going to elaborate, but if they wanted to dissuade Yōko, they’d need one. “She already has the Katō girl.” 

Yōko looked contemplative. “I could ask around the compound for you, but I have a suspicion you don’t want her presence broadcasted around the village.” 

Senko didn’t have a last name and she managed a low profile all throughout the war, but she still had a bingo book entry with an artist’s rendition of her face. Her seal made her distinctive, and Haiko will soon have to suffer the same lack of anonymity. Still, it wasn’t likely that anyone would put the pieces together… except whoever hired those sell-swords. No, better to keep it under wraps as long as possible.

“Thought so,” Yōko said. “Well, I’ll drop hints. How long do you have to deal with this?” 

“Mikage says a week or two until she’s cleared to leave.”

“Don’t cut it too close, or Hiruzen is going to give custody to Danzō.” 

Jiraiya sighed roughly. “I know. Thank you for coming out tonight, Yōko-san. Thank you.”

“I understand the need for secrecy. I’ll keep it for you. Best of luck, boys.” 

With that, Uchiha Yōko turned down the corridor.

Left alone, they looked at each other. Finally, Orochimaru said, “Hatake Sakumo.”

“I couldn’t,” Jiraiya instantly replied. The loss of his wife had weighed heavily on Sakumo, and Jiraiya had seen the Hatake brat. He didn’t want to be the source of more stress for his friend.

“Then who? Who else would you trust to raise a bloodline child? Half the Noble clans are out of consideration. The other half is incompatible. Most other clans have hijutsu — they won’t prioritize an outside child.”

“Sakumo already has a kid!”

“What’s one more?” 

Jiraiya glared. Orochimaru returned it evenly. “Think it through. Most of the larger clans are still recovering. If they take her in, it’d only be to incur a debt with one of us. Sakumo, however, is a trusted confidant. He will keep her out of politics for as long as he can while imparting the necessary skills. The son can be a playmate. Their clan is no bigger than those two. It’s perfect.”

 _Trusted confidant._ Orochimaru could be adorable, sometimes. Jiraiya frowned, but Orochimaru’s logic was hard to refute.

“…Sakumo returns in two days. I’ll ask him then.” 

Orochimaru gave a single nod. “Now. I still have the foundation seal for one of Senko’s older designs. I shall retrieve it. You watch over the girl.”

Jiraiya sighed. “Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Noble Clans of Hidden Leaf, a primer:  
> Aburame  
> Akimichi  
> Hyūga  
> Uchiha   
> (Senju — but Tsunade withdrew their status when it became just her)


	4. Orphanage, I

I was roused by the alarm clock. 

I groped for it, cracking my dehydrated eyes open, trying to remember where I’d left the clock and the eye drops. How much did I drink last night? Can’t be that much if my brain’s not trying to claw out of my eyes.

A sharp pain shot through my arm, and I woke up all the way.

The ceiling was an expanse of white-washed cement. The window frame’s white paint was flaking in the corners, showing the dark wood beneath. Through the panes, the sky was a robin’s egg blue.

The smell of cleaning detergent filled my nose.

I sat up, and white hospital sheets slid off my shoulders. My bandaged shoulders. 

I felt padding, and a closer examination revealed only one shoulder to be wounded. There was some soreness when I rotated the joint, but no pain. An IV was stuck in the uninjured arm. The IV stand was too tall for me, and what labels were on the hanging packet, I didn’t recognize.

The pain was from me waving that arm around and pulling on the needle. Had I dislodged the IV? I checked the port, then the tube. No air bubbles, no dislocation. I was fine. 

No, the dull pain in my leg informed me, you aren’t fine. You are the furthest from fine. 

Where the _fuck_ was I? (Hospital, yes, but also on a metaphysical level. If this was hell, I’d like to know, thanks.) 

I was hooked up to some sort of machine. A heartbeat monitor? I stared at the display. It didn’t show anything I recognized, but it beeped rhythmically and it was connected to my forehead and chest, so it must’ve been recording something.

It wasn’t anything invasive, so I left it alone.

The machine was between the bed and the window. On the other side of the bed stood a small table, and on the table was a covered pitcher of water, a glass with a straw, and a clock. 

It was eight in the morning.

“What the fuck,” I said, out loud, then flung off the sheets. (It’s amazing how swear words stay with you. I’m extremely thankful.)

I got to my knees on the bed, trying not to dislodge the connected wires. I didn’t know their purpose but didn’t want to disrupt them in case they were doing something important. My injured led twinged, but not much.

The beside table’s edge was about eye-level, and while my eyes were no longer uncomfortably dry, I was now thirsty. I uncovered the pitcher and sniffed it, found no suspicious smell — it was water, not medicine — and poured myself a cup, managing to not spill anything. I surveyed the room.

It wasn’t big. The door wasn’t that far away, a simple sliding beige thing with a vertical window and a metal handle. At the back of the room was a plastic chair, its design just a little off from the plastic chairs I remembered. 

The window was too high for me to look through from where I was, but if I went to the end of the bed… I’ll need to shift the IV.

I eyed the stand. It had wheels, but they were in some sort of locked state. After further eyeballing, I spotted the switch and flicked it with my feet, and then it could move. 

I was shuffling across the bed when the door slid open. 

The attendant and I stared at each other.

She was dressed in the strangest scrubs I’ve ever seen. I heard that scrubs were that shade of minty green to provide contrast against red blood and focus for the eyes, but not be too blinding as white. This attendant was wearing a rice-white, and it was a few moments before I realized what I was looking at.

I was seeing _color_. 

In fact, the red ‘doctor’ symbol on the breast pocket was very eye-catching.

She recovered before I did. Stepping into the room with a smile, she said, “Good afternoon, Haiko-san. I’m your nurse. It’s great to see you awake! How long have you been up?”

If she was surprised, she hid it behind a dimpled smile.

I sat down, looking her over curiously. She hadn’t brought any equipment into the room with her, and there was nothing in the room besides the strange machine. Just making the rounds, then.

“Not long,” I said.

She spotted the cup of water. “How are you feeling? Thirsty? Hungry?” She began to change the IV, ignoring the fact that the stand was in a different place. “Any pain?” 

I shook my head. “What’s the date?”

She eyed me curiouslym then cast a glance around the room. “I’ll get a calendar for you later, okay?”

I nodded, satisfied, then yawned, surprising myself. 

“I’ll wake you up for lunch,” said the nurse, kindly. “Go rest.”

***

Over the next three days they put me through several tests — eyesight, depth perception, color identification, and some other routine healthcare stuff. I had none of the language to ask why my vision had changed, and so stewed in dissatisfaction.

When the tests slowed down, they moved me into the children’s ward. I was off IV but still tired, and followed the nurses without complaint. The children’s ward had smaller beds, lower furniture, and for recreation: coloring books and very old color pencils.

A yellowing calendar was up on the wall: it was the middle of July.

I mostly slept.

***

It took me a while to recover from the lethargy, and when I did, I got bored. They left me to my own devices outside of meal time, and there wasn’t much to do. I was the only occupant of the children’s ward. Out of boredom, I picked up the coloring books, then when I couldn’t recognize the characters of the publishing house, dug up a battered old dictionary for kids.

The doctor who gave me the news of my mother’s death didn’t make a big thing out of it. He simply came in one slow afternoon. 

I was filling in a flower (no idea what; I was never really interested in botany). He stopped at the table, calling my name kindly. I looked up, took in his rice-white robes and the pen clipped to his breast pocket, wondering what else they had to test for. They’d already drawn blood, took a urine test, and declared my vision passable. There’d been no X-ray, yet, so maybe that?

“Haiko-san, we finally know what has happened to your mother.” The tone was calm, soothing, even. I instantly tensed. Of course I’d wondered what had happened to her, why she wasn’t here yet. I hadn’t wanted to think any further than that. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t my real parent, whatever ‘real’ even meant, but she had loved me, sheltered me, and tried to get me to safety in a dangerous situation. If I had more time with her, she’d have grown to be as real a parent as — well, I don’t remember. 

I put down the orange pencil I’d been using to color the stalk. 

“She’s died, Haiko-san. Do you know what that means?” 

I frowned at him. Probably best to let him go ahead and explain it; I wasn’t supposed to be able to grasp the concept yet, I think? Age and brain development, all that.

“It means she can no longer come see you.” 

I nodded solemnly. So that night went exactly how I remembered it. 

It begged the question: who were my mysterious saviors, and how did they know where to pick me up?

The doctor was looking at me worriedly. “Do you have any questions?” 

I wanted to know when and where they found the body, I wanted to know the details of her death, I wanted to know who was after her so badly they’d kill for it, and I wanted to know if there was a corpse (—I remembered the chunks of stone, its pitted surface; if I really focused, I could even imagine its texture).

I looked at the doctor pensively. It was doubtful he’d know any of that, and he probably wouldn’t tell me if he did. It was understandable, of course, to not offer traumatizing information to a child, so anything he told me would be a sanitized version of the truth. 

And it was fine, really. I’d get my answers one way or the other. While he was here, I was going to ask more pertinent questions.

I said, “When can I see her—” the doctor’s eyes widened “—before she goes in the ground?”

The look in his eyes changed from worry to pity. “Don’t worry about that, child. Someone will come for you.” 

He meant that reassuringly, but it was cryptic enough to distract me for a few moments. 

Who was going to come? —The people who rescued me, presumably, or whoever officiated the rescue. I didn’t know enough, and that automatically made me wary.

The doctor took my silence to be satisfaction and excused himself. Miffed, I turned to the nurses who stayed behind and asked, “Onee-san, who’s coming?”

The nurses looked at each other. One finally said, “We don’t know.”

Oh, well. 

I began shading a leaf yellow as they hesitantly returned to their job. (The publishing house was just a family surname, indicative of nothing.) “That’s okay,” I said, after a while, and they paused in turning out the sheets of the other beds. “But, erm, can I go out to the garden tomorrow?”

The children’s ward had windows that opened to a garden. Maybe I could climb a tree and see more of where exactly I am. I had missed my window of direct questioning — questions like ‘where am I?’ and ‘who are you people?’ were rude when said people had been treating you for the past week. Oh, they’d give me a straight answer, sure, but I couldn’t do much with just a name. A name doesn’t tell me if this was the capital or a random city, and it sure as hell doesn’t let me know if I’d be ‘safe’ here. For whatever measure of ‘safe’.

Easier to just see for myself.

The nurses were relieved to get a question they could answer. “Sure, Haiko-chan. We’ll make the arrangements, and Emi here will come pick you up.”

Emi smiled, showing a dimple, and waved.

***

Well, the scrapes were worth what I saw, I guess. Who’d’ve guessed climbing trees when you were knee-high was difficult. 

The hospital had a big, red, circular sign set above the main entrance; I saw that from the side. Nothing much to see in the other direction except that this place probably wasn’t a capital — it didn’t look big or developed enough, set in the valley as it was. There were three faces on the cliff behind the village, towering over the settlement. If that was their idea of decor, this place did not instill confidence.

We stood in the shade of the tall tree I just came down. Emi was checking me over for scrapes and scratches, tutting at me. I watched her disinfect the shallow cuts I’d gathered during the downwards scramble. When she finished, I ran off to the swings before whatever reprimand she was preparing left her mouth. 

“Haiko—” she began, warningly. 

I sat on the swing and gave her the most innocent look I could manage.

She sighed, then gathered up the first-aid box. As she stood up, she focused on something behind me. 

I twisted the swing around, following her gaze.

Two people were coming out of the door to the children’s ward: the nurse from yesterday, and a tall man I hadn’t seen before. 

He was dressed in dark colors.

I realized he wasn’t a doctor when the two figures drew closer and I saw something strapped to his back — a sheath, for a blade. He was talking to the nurse, smiling politely, and the handle was visible over his shoulder.

He had long, messy white hair. 

I pushed off the swing and went towards them. Emi sighed with exasperation.

The stranger saw me coming first. He stopped, regarding me curiously, and a beat later the nurse stopped too. She opened her mouth to say, “Ah, Haiko-san, this is—”

“Did you bring me here?” I demanded, staring at the stranger and trying to fit my memory to him. He looked too young to have hair that pale, but white hair was rare, surely. “How did you know where I was?”

He blinked, astonished. The second nurse exchanged a startled look with Emi.

“You’re not a doctor,” I said to the man. “What are you doing here?”

“Haiko-san, that’s very rude!” Emi said. “Hatake-sama, I’m so sorry, we had no idea she would react this way—” 

I looked at her. These women hadn’t heard me say more than a few words at a time, so it was only expected for them to be surprised, but their use of the polite form was interesting. Emi seemed just exasperated, though, but what did that say about this man…?

“It’s okay, really,” the man assured Emi, with a hint of amusement. “It’s good for children to have spirit.” He turned to me. “Nice to meet you, Haiko-san. My name is Sakumo. I was not the person who saved you, but I know who did. You must have remembered his hair, right?”

I nodded. So… Hatake Sakumo was his full name, and he was important enough to be addressed highly. It did not explain his business here.

“I see,” Sakumo said, when I did not respond. He smiled, polite and kind. “He will be at the funeral, I think. I will introduce you then.”

Still no explanation. “What are you doing here?” I repeated.

My question had cut off another attempt by the second nurse to interject. She glanced at Emi for help, but given that Emi had spent the past hour wringing her hands at my antics, she wasn’t going to be of much assistance.

“I’ll answer the question if you’ll come inside with us,” said Sakumo, grinning. “How about it?” 

I nodded again, then held out my hand to Emi. She sighed in relief, took it, and we made our way back into the ward. 

***

On the short table where I normally had my meals, there was tea and a plate of little round colorful things. We arranged ourselves on stools, the adults looking comically out of proportion. Emi tucked the first-aid pack under the table, then served me a kebab of the colorful round stuff and a cup of tea.

I picked it up. Was it candy? 

“Have you had dango before?” Sakumo asked.

No. 

“We’re slowly introducing sugary foods into her diet,” Emi explained. “It’s probably her first time.”

Good to know they pay attention to minute details like diet — I ate one. It was chewy and sweet and wow, yeah, I’d be okay with being bribed by this stuff.

“I see,” said Sakumo. “So, Haiko-san, what do you think?” 

“Tasty,” I said. Then I looked at him in silence until he laughed. 

“Okay, alright. You’re too bright to be distracted by food, I get it. You remind me of my son, you know?” 

Son? 

He rested his elbows on the table. “I came here to see you, Haiko-san. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” I said. “Why?”

“Why?” Sakumo echoed me, surprised.

“Why did you come here?” The nurses exchange a worried look in the corner of my vision. “Why you?”

Sakumo’s gaze turned considering and his tone changed. “I knew your mother. A friend asked me to look out for you, so I came here today to see how you were doing.” 

“Who?” 

He fell silent. The considering gaze grew sharper. “Emi-san, can you bring me her file and those papers?” 

Emi nodded, stood up, and left the room.

“It must be boring here, alone with no one to talk to,” Sakumo continued. “I heard from Kao-san that today was the first time you went outside. What do you do all day, Haiko-san?” 

In answer, I pointed at the low bookshelf and its haphazard sprawl of books. I had rifled through it the day I recovered enough energy to get out of bed, flipped through all of them, then flung everything to the ground in search of a dictionary. When I found it, I went through the picture books again, teaching myself how to read. I used shelving to separate read books from unread books, so now all the picture books were neatly on the top shelf, and the lower half was a mess of coloring books and activity books and the battered dictionary. 

Kao sighed. I shot her an apologetic look. I _was_ getting around to tidying the lower half. 

Sakumo hummed, watching me. “Do you mean to say you’ve read all those books, or you’ve been using the coloring books on the lower shelf?”

I held back from sighing, then decided to give him a proper answer to see how he’d react. “I’ve read all there is to read.” Yep, even the dictionary. It was a lite version, kid-friendly, finishable. 

Kao inhaled sharply. Sakumo’s eyes widened. “Really?” 

I nodded, then ate another dango. This was getting boring. I regretted being so forthcoming with Sakumo in the garden. It obviously only peaked his interest, explaining the increasingly complicated questions. I had thought he was one of the people who knew stuff, (he still might be), but he was probably just here to see what I’ve been up to, with no intention to tell me anything. I wasn’t dumb enough to try and trick him — his occupation had him using a _sword_ and he’d survived long enough to have a son, who’s probably in their teens.

The green tea really went great with dango.

The door opened with a soft _click_ and Emi entered the room, a file in her hands. She placed it in front of Sakumo, then took her seat beside me again. Sakumo thanked her, opening the file. 

The table was small enough that I could clearly see my name, printed across the top, but that was all I could read. 

(I had no last name — that was interesting.) 

Sakumo flipped to another page, scanned it, then said, “Emi-san, Kao-san, give Mikage my regards. He really outdid himself.” He glanced at me. “How long can she stay here?” 

“You’ve decided then, Hatake-sama?” Kao said in surprise. 

I set down the tea cup. Decided what? 

“Yes. I’ll take her in, but I have to leave for a mission tomorrow. Can the hospital host her, or should I contact an orphanage?”

“I can ask Mikage-sama about extending her stay, but …” Kao trailed off. She looked at me worriedly. “Maybe we should have this conversation outside, Hatake-sama.” 

“No, it’s okay. It’s her life, she should have a say, and she clearly understands us. Right, Haiko-san?” Sakumo smiled at me. I stared. “What do you feel about a sibling?” 

“How old is your son?” I said, then winced at the suspicious, demanding tone in my voice. “Sorry.” It sounded like this man was going to _adopt_ me and all I’ve been to him was rude.

“He’s your age!” Sakumo beamed. “Just as bright, to boot. You’re a good match.”

I was thrown. What the heck did a normal kid my age ‘like me’ mean? Rude? Disrespectful? Paranoid to hell and back? 

—wait. Mission? Extending my stay?

“It’s my professional advice that a child her age have proper socialization. She has already been kept solitary for too long.” Kao frowned. “As you can see, there are no children in this ward right now. I suggest you enter her into an orphanage for the duration of your absence, then introduce her to Kakashi-kun when you have returned. Her environment has already changed too drastically too fast.” 

“I was thinking the same—”

Green tea spilled across the table as the cup slipped through my limp fingers. 

Emi tutted, snatching up the tea towel and starting to clean up the mess. Sakumo gathered the papers and lifted the bundle out of the way. Kao picked up the tea pot and remaining cups and transferred them to a bedside table, to avoid any more spillage. 

I took note of all this vaguely. 

“It won’t be for long,” Sakumo was assuring me. “I’ll be gone for at most a week, and then I’ll pick you up from the orphanage and we can go home. Be a good girl?” 

What? Oh, right, the orphanage thing. “Yeah, okay,” I said, faintly. 

The mountain-face with its three carvings. I hadn’t recognized it, because I’d been reminded of that American presidential memorial and because I’d never expected to actually see it, in real life — and also because I remembered the mountain face to have _four_ carvings. 

I hadn’t bothered with memories of my old life. It might as well have been an especially vivid dream if not for the cognitive ability it gave me, and anyway, nothing in it applied to my current situation, so why bother, right? But I’d been a small time weeb, and—

Well, there’d been a time in that community where you couldn’t turn around without stumbling into the juggernaut series _Naruto_. Nobody who was into anime hadn’t heard about that series. (Along with others, so I guess I could’ve had worse luck and been in … I don’t know, _Bleach_ , or something. Didn’t that one have an explicit afterlife?)

Sakumo thought my reaction was because of the mention of an orphanage. I didn’t mind social services; they were there for a reason, and I vaguely hoped this world had better childcare, but that wasn’t it. I had finally put a face to the name, though he’d been literally sitting across the table from me — Hatake Sakumo, White Fang, committed suicide to restore honor to his clan name, part one of Kakashi’s tragic backstory. 

White Fang of the Leaf. Hidden Leaf, one of the ninja villages of the Great Five Shinobi Nations, military installation and human settlement and, and— I blinked. That was it, right? The more I focused on it, the more I could remember, but when I traced the thought as far as it would go, it didn't yield much. Leaf was a military installation, a civilian settlement, and … an autonomous political body?

Thinking about it was giving me a headache. I had my anime phase as a teenager, and how damned long ago was that? Too long.

 _Oh, fuck,_ I thought, with feeling.

“—Haiko?” Sakumo said, in the tones of someone who’d been repeating themselves.

“Yes?” I said, startled. 

He looked worried. I was making people worried a lot, it seemed. That wasn’t good. Worried adults meant more attention on me, and I couldn’t deal with attention at the moment. What if I slipped up and said something I shouldn’t know? These people had someone with freaky mind-reading powers hidden away somewhere, and I did not want to end up in the bowels of some building, having my brain picked. 

“If you’re this bothered with the idea, I’ll talk to the hospital director and extend your stay here. As I’ve said before, I won’t be away long.” Sakumo fiddled with the papers in his hand. “Or you could head over to the house today, meet Kakashi, settle in?” 

Emi and Kao instantly made noises of protest.

Never mind being in a piece of fiction, that news was two years old. Apparently I had _died_ and I didn’t even know how that happened. I needed time to think.

“It’s okay, it’s—” Orphanage was the good choice. I could see how the kids around here acted, what they knew, the kind of shit they talked about. Now to frame it nicely. “I’ll go to the orphanage, it’s fine. Just a week or so, right? Whatever is easiest for you.”

The nurses agreed. Emi even patted my head.

“You’re sure?” asked Sakumo.

I nodded, standing up. “When do I go?” 

“Not immediately, no,” said Sakumo, placing the papers in his hand back on the table. “I have to settle the paperwork. Kao-san?”

“Sign here.” She pulled out a pen from her pocket, then fished out a page from the pile. As Sakumo signed it, she said, “I’ll arrange it through the director. Tomorrow might be pushing it, so I’ll leave the paperwork at your house when it’s complete.” 

“Thanks.” 

“I’ll go right now. Mikage-sama should still be in his office.” 

In brisk, well-practiced moves, Kao slotted the papers, and then she was out of the room, the door swinging closed behind her. 

Sakumo rose from the table. “I should report in. Thanks for arranging the meeting, Emi-san.” 

They exchanged more pleasantries, and I took the chance to fish out the coloring book I was working on. The only thought on my mind was putting up the front of an occupied child so Emi would leave me alone so I can process the revelations of the afternoon. 

A hand came to rest on my head, ruffling my hair. I froze, not looking up. “Take care, Haiko. See you in a week,” Sakumo said. The door closed a second time.

The only sounds in the room were Emi’s cleaning up, and I stared at the garishly colored flower on the page. 

There was a clink as Emi set down the plate of dango on the table. “I know it’s been hard, but you’ll have a home and a family again in no time, Haiko-chan. Hatake-sama is a good person, and Kakashi-kun is fun. I’m sure you’ll be happy with them. Cheer up?” 

I looked at her. I wasn’t sure what she saw in my gaze, but her smile turned a little sad at the corners. She patted my cheek, then gestured at the dango. “My treat.” 

She left.

The second the door closed behind her, I dropped my head onto the table. It was almost impossible to sort through the jumble of emotions I was feeling— relief and suspicion and dread and anticipation and horror and… 

What did I remember about the story? At this moment, not a whole damn lot. 

Well… when life gives you lemons…

***

The hospital discharged me three days later. Emi and Kao continued being my caretakers until the end, and they saw me off when a man came to pick me up. I waved, the nurses waved back, and that was it.

The walk through the village was short. The man was quiet, only nodding and smiling at me, and after five minutes of walking we turned away from the main thoroughfare. Bushes gave way to thin trees, thin trees gave way to large trees, and when the paved path beneath our feet became a dirt road, the trees opened to a house. 

It was a large house, and from what I could see, it was about eighty percent windows. When we came to a stop at the front, I could hear children laughing and playing.

A woman was standing in the main doorway. She wore a coif-like headdress that covered her hair, dark robes, and had bright eyes that sparkled behind her glasses. She looked to be in her forties, with faint wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. 

I looked over the house again — no crosses, no chapel. Not a religious place, then, I hope, and she didn’t wear any visible talisman or icon. Oh, well, I wouldn’t be here long. If this place turned out to be religious, I’ll just play along until I leave.  
  
“Thank you, shinobi-san,” the woman said to my chaperone. Her voice was low and warm. “I’ll take it from here.”

The man dipped his chin, then — _disappeared_. 

I stared at the space he’d vacated. O—kay.

She turned to me, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Haiko-san. My name is Kamiji and I’m the matron of this house. You’ll be staying with us for a while. Come, let’s get you settled in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im supposed to be reading a whole stack of stuff in preparation for final essays but i chose to do this instead and i have to say, im enjoying myself a lot more


End file.
